


Cop(s) and Robber(s)

by tafih



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Police, Angst and Fluff and Smut, M/M, klance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-26 10:11:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9886646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tafih/pseuds/tafih
Summary: Keith Kogane is a cop. The Blue Paladin is a robber.But who catches whom?Based on “Ibitsu na Koi no Seesaw Game” by Kashima Chiaki





	1. The Cop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter will involve nonconsensual sexual intercourse but the other chapters will not. (This will also be addressed in the future).

The city-state of Arus is a beautiful, remote, and bustling metropolis in the middle of the Altean Mountains, holding a population of nearly 10 million people.

One of those people is Inspector Keith Kogane, a high-ranking and fairly successful detective in the city’s police force.

And, typically, the problems that the young Det. Kogane has, he notices, are with other people living in Arus.

He thinks, at times, that it’s because he hails from El Paso and is not a local.

* * *

_One such problem is that his superior never seems to stop yelling at him._

Like right now, as he attempts to slip – undetected – into the Arus Police Department building and instantly, Commissioner Allura barks at him.

“Kogane!”

The detective jolts and groans inwardly as he turns to face and salute her.

“Where the _hell_ have you been?” she shouts while stalking up to him. “Blue already came and went with the Tear of Balmera and you are nowhere to be found.”

“That’s because…” Kogane digs his hand into his chest pocket and pulls out a priceless necklace stringing a large electric blue teardrop crystal. “I _have_ the Tear of Balmera.”

Kogane putting the previously stolen necklace in her hand does not sate Allura’s temper. But rather, she cannot help but interrogate, “How is it that you always bring back the item but never the thief?”

“He always uses silly and complicated tricks to evade capture but I can detain him enough to grab whatever he seems to have stolen,” Kogane responds monotonously and tries to inch away to his cubicle but she stops him by grabbing him by the crook of his elbow.

Her eyes narrow, and her gaze burrows into his. She says, “I want Blue in Beta Traz by the end of this month. Is that understood, detective?”

“Yes’m,” Keith mutters flatly, which betrays the inner terror and slight solicitude he holds for his superior. She releases him and turns to hand over the evidence to another officer to check.

And Keith runs away to his desk.

A few minutes later, Detective Kogane huffs as he shovels his forehead into the wood of his desk. Then a steaming foam cup of ramen with a set of disposable chopsticks appears next to his elbow.

He looks up to see his captain, Takashi Shirogane, smiling down at him.

“Black Shin Ramen’s your favorite, right?”

Keith rises from the physical manifestation of his groaning and sits up in his worn-out swivel chair. “Yeah…you didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Come on,” Shiro quips good-naturedly, “The least I can do is get my best detective a cup of ramen.”

“If I were the best, the Blue Paladin would be behind bars right now,” Keith simmers as he slides the cup towards him and splits the chopsticks.

“You’ve brought back every single thing he stole. Don’t let what the Commish’ says get to you,” Shiro says in his typical reassuring voice. “Allura means well. She’s just …frustrated, you know?”

Keith smiles awkwardly back. “Yeah, thanks, Shiro.”

_And another problem appears._

In the depth of his heart, Keith notices a flaring of the remnants of his old and secret infatuation with the older man. But it is all expertly veiled by his consistently stoic expressions.

He quickly forces himself to remember the night he caught the captain and the commissioner sharing a kiss outside Shiro’s apartment a few months ago. He has also heard rumors that the two are secretly engaged.

The best way to move on is to move on, he tells himself.

“So how did you get the Tear of Balmera back?” Shiro asks, leaning against the detective’s desk.

Keith deadpans – his eyes seem to go white as his mind travels to the memories (and the events of the foreseeable future) that represent the biggest problem he has in his life, currently.

* * *

_And the biggest, most burdensome, most taxing, most bothersome, most complicated, and most surreptitious problem that Detective Keith Kogane has is the fact that he is fucking **The Blue Paladin.**_

“Not out of my volition,” Keith growls at the man who straddles him suggestively (and who also handcuffed both his wrists to a pipe).

“Oh, _please_ , detective,” the notorious thief chuckles as he unbuckles the policeman’s belt. “You love this. Why else would you make it _so_ easy to capture you?”

Kogane scoffs, appalled and with hurt pride, “I don’t – you just use-,”

“ _Silly and complicated tricks_?” Blue completes while slipping the leather belt from out of the belt loops of Kogane’s pants with a clean, tantalizing _swhip_.

The officer grimaces. The damn thief has the department bugged. 

They are in the boiler room in the basement of Alcari Laboratories, hidden behind rows of steaming steel and machinery. The thief in question had disguised himself as a police officer and infiltrated the ranks sent in to the campus to search him out. One thing led to another that led to Detective Kogane sitting on his aggravated ass, watching the _Blue Paladin_ have his way with him – again.

Kogane prays that his colleagues won’t find them. “You are a criminal and I will do everything in my power to make sure that your crimes are righted.”

“So doesn’t our arrangement work out nicely?” the thief smirks as his hands dip seductively into the space between the inspector’s hips and the fabric of his pants. “You fuck me. And I give you the item I stole.” He holds up one hand to show his latest conquest – a key-ring with a cerulean USB holding the Alcari’s latest technological research, research that their competitors would pay _billions_ for.

Kogane feels the touch of Blue’s hands and his spine seems to twist into his core. He is already anticipating what is to come.

He hates that he just sits there. He hates that he relents. He hates that he finds this boy absolutely fucking beautiful with his white-silver hair (probably a wig), his flawlessly tanned skin (probably sprayed on), and his bright mischievous cobalt eyes – the color of the prettiest sea (probably not fake). Dammit.

“Because, to me, _Inspector_ ,” Blue warbles smoothly, _sensually_ , he leans in so that his lips are only inches away from Kogane’s ear. “Stealing your heart would be my greatest accomplishment.”

Kogane tries to glower but Blue slides his hand to the fabric of Kogane’s boxers taut against his groin.

The thief whispers the heated touch of his lips against the detective’s neck while kneading the quavering member beneath his hands. The sensations elicit something from Kogane’s breath – warmth, stimulation, passion…he is not sure.

He _is_ sure, however, that he does not want to find out. “That’s never going to happen because I fucking hate you,” he manages to growl through his attempts to repress the shudders.

Blue draws back just slightly so that the investigator could see the teasing smile on his lips. “Or do you hate that you love fucking me?”

The policeman grits his teeth and Blue remedies that with a forceful kiss.

The soft touch of his lips, their shared breaths, Blue’s body grinding against the heat of his own, then the dizzying sensation of the thief’s tongue against each wanting crevice of his mouth almost convinces Kogane to moan into the pleasure.

But his better judgment snaps him out of it and he bites.

Blue sucks his teeth as he pulls back and strokes the bleeding cut on his lip with his thumb. Then he releases a wafting laugh. “You know, Inspector Kogane, the great paradox of your personality is that you are so damn pensive but so obtusely impulsive.”

“And you never shut up,” Kogane retorts, trying to ignore the very cogent assessments the thief always seems to make of him.

Blue chuckles and Kogane sneers. Then his boxers are shimmied down his legs.

The thief leans down and gently holds Kogane’s hardening member in his cool, smooth hands. He brings the tip to his lips.

Kogane stops breathing.

Blue parts his lips and begins to lovingly caress Kogane’s penis with his mouth and tongue.

Kogane tilts his head up to the air – he gasps and his lungs stagger.

“For an Asian dude, your dick is quite the specimen,” Blue mutters against the flesh he worships with tender licking and sucking.

“You racist motherfu-,”

Blue abruptly sucks against the flesh of his balls and Keith shudders – the whole of his body and mind dies a little death – but not quite there yet.

“No, you’re not allowed to cum unless you’re inside me,” Blue sings as he lets his pants slip down below his butt. One hand grapples onto Kogane’s collarbone to anchor the thief as he _prepares_ himself with his other hand.

Kogane feels the haze of sex cloud his mind and his panting – and the fog seems to spread to Blue who whimpers and falls onto Kogane’s shoulders. The police officer slowly says. “Doesn’t it hurt? Just sticking it in like that?”

“ _Mmmm_ ,” Blue moans and slowly lifts himself to his knees. “Oh, it hurts like shit if you don’t use lube,” he laughs then pulls his hand from behind to show a wet condom over two of his fingers. “That’s why I always bring _extra_ lubricated condoms.”

Keith feels his eye twitch. “You’re so fucking crazy.”

“No, I’m just so fucking in love.” He kisses the officer curtly on the lips. “And _very_ prepared.”

Kogane furrows his brows and he watches, while in deep contemplation, the thief transfer the condom from off his fingers onto _his_ still throbbing hard penis.

The Blue Paladin positions himself above and finally, finally, _finally_ , thrusts his body onto the other man’s member with a satisfying sound echoing in tandem with their panting and their moans.

Now it is his turn to shudder. “ _Fuck_ , yes,” Blue whispers desperately into the warm air and he begins moving.

Soft, wet, slapping noises sound out into the air and the beats between quicken with every time the Blue Paladin mewls into Kogane’s ear.

“ _Nnn_ , yes, deeper, _fuck.”_

Keith, without realizing it, rocks his hips against Blue whenever he descends, ramming him back up in the air. Then down again – the rhythm of their sex envelops them.

“ _Ahh,_ ”

“ _Shut up_ ,”

“I _can’t_ – you, _mmm_ ,”

“Fuck.”

Everything starts slowly then builds and accelerates. Soon, neither of them can keep up with their acquired desperate tempo towards satisfaction.

Blue pants, urgently, “Fuck me. _Yes_.” Another thrust. “Ah, God, I love your dick.”

Keith scowls and grunts, “So do you love me or my dick?”

Something between a laugh and a gasp flutters out from Blue’s breath and Keith thrusts again so that Blue barely whispers out, “ _Both_ ,”

“Why?” Keith grunts again as he feels the man’s warmth descend upon him again. “What have I done –kgg,” Another desperate, emotive thrust. Blue jolts. “To make you so fucking obsessed?”

Blue does not respond just yet – his breath, his moans, his heat all rise in speed and volume – and Keith realizes – his does too.

Blue suddenly flings his arms around Keith’s shoulders. Then reveals, in short spurts of faint and feeble whispers, “I’m just a talkative Cuban boy that no one gave a fuck about.”

Keith bucks and they both gasp.

Blue continues, “And the first person who ever really paid any attention to me was you.”

Before the detective could register or even react, Blue moans, “ _Keith_ ,” into his open mouth and closes it with his own. Their tongues writhe against each other and a surge bursts from within Kogane and he bucks into Blue one last final time and he growls as he finally climaxes.

A whimper from Blue’s throat floats into Keith’s and their tongues still grapple against each other.

Keith – in his haze – does not realize until it is too late that another sensation – other than Blue’s lips and tongue – is felt in his mouth.

Blue forces the small oval object down to Keith’s throat by force and Kogane manages to think, “What the-?” before the potent sleeping pill kicks in.

The thief scoffs in disbelief. “Damn, this dude really doesn’t think before he acts, huh?” Then he repositions himself and brings a hand to his dick to help himself reach the climax Keith Kogane was just shy of helping him attain. “At least you’re gorgeous,” he murmurs warmly as he uses his free hand to draw back Keith’s bangs so that his handsome, sleeping features are in full view. “Except for the mullet.”

He then takes a few moments to reach climax then splutters his seed onto the officer’s clothes and chuckles to himself. He takes the USB from off his finger and places it into the man’s coat pocket then rises to stand and clean himself up.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Detective.”

* * *

The next day, around dusk, Keith Kogane – his mind and soul burdened by all of these fucking problems – smokes a cigarette on the balcony of his apartment while staring blankly over the lackluster view his cheap apartment provided.

His superior yelled at him again.

His heart beat again when Shiro smiled at him.

And, oh goodness, he fucked the Blue Paladin again.

He sighs and takes a long drag.

“Rough day?”

Keith looks to the side to see his neighbor waving at him from their adjacent terrace.

_And thus arrives the least controversial but still somewhat complicated problem of Keith Kogane – his little (slightly flirty) friendship with his neighbor, Lance McClain._

“Hey, Lance…yeah, I guess you could say it’s been a rough day… _and_ night.”

Lance reaches down then holds up two cold, dewy and already opened bottles of beer. “How about a little pick-me-up?”

Keith puts out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray and graciously reaches over the shared railing to take a bottle.

“Thanks.”

Lance smiles back and they both indulge in a swig while the spring winds flutter between them.

“You were in the news again,” Lance comments a little while later. “Detective Kogane foils the Blue Paladin from ruining Alcari Labs,” he announces with an advertising tone and slides his hand up in the air to mimic a marquee.

Keith groans and puts the bottle to his lips. “Huh,” he huffs. 

“You would think he’d get discouraged from all the times you’ve stopped him.”

“I haven’t,” Keith mutters then takes another sip of the hoppy liquid.

“What?”

“I haven’t stopped him,” the policeman explains. “I haven’t captured him yet. I just recover whatever he steals.” Then he shrugs. “Maybe I’m just not good enough.”

Lance frowns then, at length, asks, “…were you being sarcastic?”

The corners of his mouth twitch up as Keith mutters, “Attempting. Did it work?”

Lance’s eyes disappear for a moment behind the glare off of his glasses. “Not really,” then he laughs.

Keith relinquishes a small smile to the mood growing between them sharing beers and looking out over the city.

“I think you’re good enough,” Lance states, apropos of the mood as well.

Keith allows surprise to take over his expression. “You think?”

Lance tilts his head to his neighbor’s direction and beams. “More than you know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I wrote this in, like, five hours - when I should've been working on papers but my brain's all "Nope! We're going to write shitty erotica!" So, if you find any mistakes, please let me know.


	2. The Robber

Lance McClain’s greatest disguise, he believes, is probably the one he wears as Lance McClain – mild-mannered college student at Voltron University studying engineering with a minor in theatre. Lance McClain – to the world, appears as a well-meaning but socially inept boy who tries maybe a little too hard at everything (especially flirting with women) and watches a bit too much anime.

That part of his backstory is true though – he is a total geek when it comes to the latest shounen and the occasional josei animanga. In fact, it was _Lupin III_ that inspired him as a weeaboo middle schooler to take the _alternative_ route of his life through _The Blue Paladin_.

Generally, as Lance, he can typically be found binge-watching a season of Gundam on a tablet in the middle of the campus quad, which is how his friends find him one particular morning.

“Sup’ Lance,” Hunk’s shadow says as it looms over Lance’s figure hunching over his table in the grass. Lance taps the screen to pause it before looking up and grinning at his best friend since elementary.

“Hey, Hunk.”

“You haven’t come to the arcade recently. What’s up?” Hunk asks as he sits down on the lawn and sets his bulging backpack off to the side.

“I’ve been busy with my hobby,” Lance deflects monotonously as he nods to Pidge who saunters up to them.

“What hobby?” Hunk asks, genuinely interested.

“You have hobbies?” Pidge jeers, genuinely invested in making fun of Lance at all times.

Lance sticks his tongue out at Pidge. “Yes, I do. I make 3D models.”

Pidge laughs, “Like of anime girls?”

“ _No_.” he retorts defensively, “Like 3D models of buildings. _Geez._  I just finished one of Alcari Labs.” Lance goes back to his tablet and pulls up a series of landscape pictures of a 2 by 4 model of the Alcari campus.

Pidge and Hunk lean in to view and both provide little noises of being impressed.

“Wow, that’s pretty intense…you even got the little guard tower.” Pidge notes while shifting their glasses in scrutiny, “Was this why you were taking all those pictures when you visited me during my internship?”

Lance’s Inner Blue chuckles mischievously but outer Lance simply says, “That’s what inspired me. I thought the architecture was really cool.”

“That’s really impressive, Lance…what else have you done?” Hunk asks.

“I’ve only done City Hall and my childhood home. They take a long time to make.”

Pidge crosses her arms. “Why didn’t you go into architecture?”

He shrugs. “I dunno…it’s not really my thing.” He wriggles his fingers for effect. “I guess I just like working with my hands.”

“Ugh, I’d hate to get glue and foam all over my hands.”

“Well, that’s because you’re _dainty_.”

Pidge pulls out a device the size of a lipstick tube and taps Lance who suddenly jolts from a burst of electricity and falls backwards into the grass.

“DID YOU JUST TAZE ME?” Lance shouts while flailing about and making grass angels.

“Non-lethally. It locks onto your fingerprint signature so that it doesn’t shock the user. Alcari just put this on the market. Since, you know, men suck and still blame women for being sexually harassed.” Pidge tucks the weapon back into her pocket. Hunk nods in agreement. “And guess what else I made?”

Lance scoffs as he finally rises and dusts some loose grass off of his VU sweatshirt, “I don’t know, a machine of death disguised as a toothbrush?”

“Besides that,” Pidge jokes as she excitedly pulls out her tablet, makes a few taps, then shows him a series of code and Lance instantly knows what it is.

“Is that…a logarithm to find the Blue Paladin?”

“Yep, and with this baby, I figured out that the Blue Paladin’s a student at our school,” Pidge half-squeals in excitement.

“What the? Really?” Lance shouts with fake enthusiasm. 

“Yep, I checked the math too,” Hunk adds.

“Yeah, there is a _definite_ pattern to the places he strikes. And they all connect to VU in some way – like some of the museums he targeted have free VU student admissions and other places circle the campus as if this were his center of operation,” Pidge quickly explains while pulling up a series of coordinates and screenshots. “And he _never_ steals anything during finals weeks or breaks.”

“Whoa,” Lance mutters, while thinking to himself that he better change his approach. But then his grades would suffer. _Oh, the dilemma._

This was the one downside to being Blue.

SCHOOL.

Typically, Lance would make sure that gallivanting around the city as the Blue Paladin wouldn’t interfere too much with his life as Lance. In fact, spending the past two years – off and on – as Blue has been incredibly liberating.

It’s his outlet.

Some students do club sports; some students get drunk; Lance disguises himself as a high-profile thief with a penchant for the color blue and tours the city while taunting the local police force.

All of his actual social finesse, his fiendishness, his sadism, his calculation, his skills, his sexuality – everything is out in the open and in full view of the biggest audience imaginable. Who wouldn’t find all of that exhilarating?

But Lance McClain was still a student. And somehow, he always felt that his true personality lies somewhere between the dorky Lance and the ostentatiously bisexual Blue. (The mayor even made a statement once on how the thief should just be gay or straight and not put the city in more disarray).

However, isn’t that what your college years are for?

Figuring out who you are.

* * *

The three musketeers (and former mathletes) all treat themselves to Korean barbeque (and a bit of soju for Hunk and Lance) for dinner at a place near campus then split up from there.

Hunk had a cooking class to teach; Pidge had her internship at Alcari Labs; and Lance had to scout out the next location for the Blue Paladin to hit.

While riding the subway over a large bridge, Lance eyes the target – the National History Museum housing the Raimon Coronet, the Crown Jewel of old Altea. When Arus was still the Kingdom of Altea, dynasties ago, the members of the royal family all wore individualized coronets – there were nearly a hundred made throughout history but nearly all of them were destroyed, stolen, or decayed past the point of preservation – except for the Raimon Coronet, worn by the last king of Altea three generations ago.

So King Alfor, Raimon’s son and heir, holds the title and is technically the monarch of Arus but only as a figurehead – but we’ll get more into that later.

Blue decides he’ll need to mix it up a bit, now that Pidge knows that TBP is a college student – he can’t really go waltzing into the museum as Lance then as Blue a week later. So Lance rides the train two stops past the museum, gets off, walks around for a bit, waits until the right moment to slip into the women’s public bathroom outside the view of the city’s CCTV cameras, and transforms into Marcela Diaz – a cute, and well-dressed “My Daddy has a lot of money” tourist from Venezuela.

 _She_ then walks to the museum, asks for an audio guide in Spanish, and takes notes and pictures while touring the facilities.

Marcela then leaves the National Museum with a satisfactory amount of pictures and the phone numbers of three security guards.

Diaz got game.

While expertly striding down the sidewalk in her comfortable yet stylish Jimmy Choo stilettos (which, yes, Blue stole), Marcela Diaz aka The Blue Paladin aka Lance McClain suddenly spies someone whose mullet they all can recognize anywhere.

“What the hell,” Marcela mutters to herself as she pulls out Lance’s phone and taps an icon that displays the interface that connects to the bug tucked underneath the collar of Det. Kogane’s trademark red jacket.

The Blue Paladin would never be dumb enough to put a bug in the actual police department. But Keith Kogane is dumb enough to wear the same leather jacket everyday without washing it.

And Det. Keith Kogane is also apparently dumb enough to walk around town with Captain Shirogane with a barely hidden blush across his cheeks.

Marcela glowers as she tucks an earpod into her right ear, follows from a good block behind, and listens in to their conversation.

Shiro is being all sweetness and unassuming.

Keith is getting flustered.

Marcela is getting possessive.

Lance is getting jealous.

Blue now knows what disguise to use for his next heist.

* * *

But that was a mistake.

* * *

Three days later, the Blue Paladin stands before Keith Kogane, with the Raimon Coronet in his hand, while disguised as Captain Takashi Shirogane.

“Just leave,” Kogane seethes. He turns away, evidently angry and bitter, while he furiously wipes his sleeve against his lips – as if they were tainted.

“Kogane, I-,” Blue steps forward, not even sure how to remedy the prank that was birthed out of jealousy and had gone a bit too far.

“I don’t fucking care.”

Blue falters.

Blue just wanted to mess with him. That was the whole point.

Blue wanted to make sure that Kogane liked him more than Shiro.

Blue wanted to…

Blue wants to…

Lance wants him all to himself.

In the middle of the security control room, Blue pulls off the rubberized mask that eerily and perfectly resembled Shiro’s face and releases it onto the floor with a flop. He sighs bitterly and wrings his hand through his hair that had matted underneath the disguise. “I fucked up, huh?”

Kogane says nothing.

Blue says nothing.

But he knows.

They both know.

He can read it on his face. He always can read that face. No matter how much it seems like he is angry, or stoic or unfeeling – he knows that all Keith Kogane does is _feel_.

He took advantage of that. He distorted that.

He kept pushing the line and now he crossed it.

With a simple, stupid, joke of a kiss.

Blue turns towards the fire escape exit but whispers one last thing over his shoulder. “At least this time around I didn’t make you fuck me.”

He places a hand on the door handle and sees himself out.

“I’m sorry.”

* * *

Around midnight, Lance releases a loud sigh of relief and satisfaction at clicking the “Submit” button for the paper he put off in order to steal the coronet – which he ended up delivering back to the museum by post with a bunch of selfies of him as Blue wearing the crown, while sitting in the old throne at the palace.

He had taken the pictures before Blue returned to National History Museum to reveal that the coronet the police were heavily guarding was a replica, and before Blue made his questionable performance at Kogane. He wouldn’t have been able to take silly photos in the mood he was in when Blue left Keith at the museum.

Lance feels his face twinge in regret.

He let Lance’s intentions interfere with his antics as Blue– all because he had a silly crush on the boy next door.

“I really shouldn’t have done that.”

Then a loud bang sounds through the wall and Lance jolts from his seat and looks out through his balcony doors to see Kogane’s apartment light flicker on.

Lance slaps his laptop shut, tosses it onto the fluff of his bed, swipes his glasses off of his nightstand then whisks out into the cold outdoors.

“Keith?”

Another loud thud; and with the sudden impetus of concern-fueled adrenaline, Lance leaps over the railings to Keith’s balcony.

When he lands, he sees through the blinds that Kogane’s body sprawled over his bed. In an instant, Lance takes the barrette that he uses to clip his hair up when he does homework and undoes the plastic casing to reveal a series of small lock-picking tools.

In seconds, he is in the apartment and cradling the off-duty cop in his arms then notices the large bottle of nearly finished Japanese sake in Keith’s red hands.

Lance almost loses it. “Oh my gosh, are you drunk?”

Slurring, Keith murmurs, “Lance?” Then he eyes the open balcony door and asks, “Did you just break into my house?”

“Uuh…your balcony was open,” Lance lies as he drags Keith up a few more inches to his bed. “Gosh, you’re wasted, aren’t you?”

Keith murmurs, “No, I’m fine.”

“You are obviously very inebriated. Did you drink this whole bottle?” Lance asks while prying the bottle away from Keith. Then he sees the label. “It has **_40%_** alcohol content…is that even allowed?”

“It was a rough night. I needed a rough liquor,” Keith groans into his pillows.

Lance purses his lips, “Like _how_ rough?“

“A kid like you wouldn’t understand.”

Lance scoffs, “Dude. We drank beers together almost every night since you moved in.”

“Oh, right…Wait. How old are you?”

“I’m turning twenty-two this summer.”

“Oh…geez,” Keith huffs as he turns to face the ceiling and rubs the bridge of his nose. “I’m only a year older than you.”

Lance blinks and sits down at the foot of his bed then peers around. Lance was always tempted to put cameras but that seemed a bit much, even to him.

By the state of the room, Lance determines that Kogane is a definite minimalist, which Lance figured (since the kid only owns one jacket), but he is also a voracious reader, which was something Lance did _not_ expect.

Books are absolutely everywhere. The detective had three large IKEA bookshelves brimming with titles ranging from _The Architecture of Ancient Antioch_ to _The Anatomy of the Human Body_ to _Nessie: Myth, Legend or Photoshop?_ to Jane Austen’s _Lady Susan._ Lance smiles to himself.

He always did have a thing for other weird nerds.

On the wall, besides the shelves is a large corkboard covered with newspaper clippings, print-outs, red string, and markings in Sharpie on a large map of the city.

“What’s the collage for?”

“It’s not a collage,” Keith insists. “I’m tracking down the Blue Paladin.”

Lance chuckles since the corkboard is on the wall that is shared with _his_ apartment. The Blue Paladin _literally_ lives behind the corkboard devoted to finding his location.

“So what was fucking you up so much?” Lance finally asks.

“A lot of things. I have a lot of problems,” Kogane mutters softly.

“You don’t say.”

“And I’m going to tell you all of them because I’m drunk and I like you.” Keith flings a pillow over his face.

Lance blinks and slowly reaches over and peels the pillow from off his face. “You do?”

“What?”

“You like me?”

“Yeah, I do. Like a _lot_ but,” he laughs, “It’s a good thing I’m drunk.”

Lance chuckles softly and helps him take off his jacket. Each arm bends at weird sharp angles but eventually, Lance simply drags it from underneath Keith’s bodyweight and flings it onto a nearby chair.

Keith goes on, “There’s a song about that.”

“What?”

“A song …in Korean? I don’t remember but the guy’s like, ‘I need to be drunk in order to say that I love you because I’m not brave enough if I’m sober.’”

“So do you love me?”

Keith closes his eyes in thought and moves his head to and fro in a drunken stupor. “It’s complicated,” he finally says.

“Why?”

“Because I’m having an affair.”

Now this makes Lance’s eyes go wider than crystal ashtrays Blue stole from the Prime Minister’s house. “With who?” Lance asks while praying that it isn’t Shirogane or some random rich married woman who preys on the young Dustin Hoffmans of the world.

Keith snickers through the haze of charming befuddlement, “With a criminal.”

Lance sighs a short sigh of relief in his mind.

“ _And_!” Keith suddenly exclaims and holds up a shaky arm up to the air.

“And?”

“I might like him too.” The arm flops down.

The world heaves off of Lance’s shoulders and his heart bludgeons into his throat. “That is _all_ right with me,” Lance admits in an excited whisper.

“What?” Keith asks suddenly.

Lance pauses.

Then he leans over and, and, _and_ ,

His hand is by Keith’s ear. Then his weight shifts to his forearm – his face inches closer, the bed creaks from the soft movement.

His breath is flowing into his.

He thinks as the words flow out of his mouth, “I like you too.”

Lance can only see his face, his red, drunk, beautiful face – looking back at him.

Keith smiles through the alcohol and whispers, “Good.”

Lance closes the distance with a kiss and he relishes the fact that it is him, _Lance McClain_ , kissing Keith Kogane and not anyone else.

Keith’s lips are soft yet chapped and fire to the touch. Lance loves the trace they leave behind when he leaves them for air – since they draw him back.

Again and again, their lips touch in fervor and their breaths become heated as they try to taste each other.

Keith wraps his arms around Lance’s neck. Lance’s hands slip underneath the arch of Keith’s back. Everything they do to keep them closer to each other.

Until, that is, when Keith moans “ _Blue_ …” when Lance trail kisses down Keith’s neck.

Lance stops, jolts off of Keith and he blinks.

Oh no.

Lance’s mind speeds through an infinite eternity of concerns and ended them by thinking how Blue would jump a drunk Kogane’s bones in an instant since Blue is the sex-crazed maniac. But Lance…Lance isn’t the asshole.

“Right?” the student asks himself, suddenly wondering if his entire worldview needs to shift.

“Lance?”

“I need to stop being an asshole,” Lance mutters back.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Keith kisses his jaw in an effort to bring him back.

Lance laughs. “Nothing,” Then he tenderly brushes Keith’s bangs aside and pecks him on the forehead. “But you’re drunk and I’m thinking we should just cuddle tonight, hmmm?”

“…Ok,” Keith relents easily and shifts onto his side so that Lance can fit on the small bed, also from IKEA.

Lance lays across the bed behind him in a happy huff then wraps his arm over Keith’s stomach. He nuzzles into the crook of the detective’s neck and soon finds a hand reaching up to fiddle with his hair.

“You really do like me?” Lance whispers tentatively as kisses on the stretch of Keith’s neck.

Keith chuckles into the nighttime air after a contented and fatigued sigh. Then says, “Turn off the light.”

Lance guffaws and smacks his head into the bed sheets and Keith snickers as Lance heaves himself off the bed, walks to the light switch, throws the small studio apartment into darkness with a snap and returns to the bed hungry for the warmth of Keith’s skin. He sets asides his glasses on the chair he tossed Keith's jacket onto. 

“You are a lot more loose when you’re drunk,” Lance accuses as he slips underneath the covers and snakes his hand under Kogane’s shirt to feel the warm softness beneath.

“One time my cousin said I was cute and I was so pissed off at her that I decided I would never be fun or cute ever again,” Keith admits breathily.

Lance laughs faintly, “It didn’t work because you’re still cute as hell.”

“Shit. Is that why you like me?” Keith shuffles until he is turned over to face Lance.

“Absolutely,” Lance asserts and pulls him in for a kiss. “And you?”

“Hmm?” Keith closes his eyes and nestles into his pillow.

“Why do you like me?”

“Because you’re cute too. And you have nice shoulders,” Keith admits while running his hands over said shoulders.

Lance smirks triumphantly and is so glad that his mom forced him to go to swim classes to the point where he feels weird when not in something tight and formfitting. “You think?”

Keith smiles. He leans in and leaves a soft return kiss on Lance’s lips then says, “More than you know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MUAHAHAHAHA no sex today. Just fluffy purple cotton candy.  
> Anyways, in my mind, the city of Arus is a combination of London, Paris and Seoul - which would be the perfect city to me :) The history of London, the romance of Paris, the vivacity (and food) of Seoul - Anyone want to start a city-state with me?  
> Guys, I have a twelve page paper due tomorrow. Look at what this story has done to me!


	3. The Chase

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lance is so OOC!??!?! Sigh, but pining Lance is pining Lance so here we go. Chapter Fucking 3 featuring three helpings of fluff and a good cup and a half of smut! Get ready to switch it up *wink wink*  
> And I wrote the ending and I’m hoping at least one of you will get a heart attack from the sugar overload so wait in anticipation, my fellow weirdos.

Keith shoots straight out of bed like a desperate bullet. His gaze automatically goes to the alarm clock at his desk that reads 5:37A SAT.

“Oh my gosh…” He raises a knee and sets an elbow upon it to hold up his worried head with the expanse of his hand.

Then, he looks down at the sleeping figure of Lance beneath his comforter and whispers. “Oh, shit.”

The cop starts thinking of several billion things at once. His eyes dart back and forth as he desperately tries to remember what happened the night before.

He recalls his tiff with Blue at the National History Museum then heading to a nearby Japanese pub and drowning his anger under glasses of sake bombs and enduring Allura’s shouting through the small speakers of his phone. Then he ate some fried chicken? Hailed a cab? Went home? Managed to unlock all _three_ security locks on his front door? Vomited his sorrows out to Lance – who appeared somehow? And slept with him????

The foremost question rattling about is: _What the fuck did Drunk Keith do… with Lance?_

“Stop freaking out,” Lance murmurs while shifting slightly. The bed creaks.

Keith freezes.

Lance turns and peeks at him over his shoulder from his spot atop one of Keith’s three pillows (which he bought from Walmart). The college student smiles in the dim grey-purple light of near dawn. Keith feels his innards unravel. He really likes this kid.

“Stop freaking out. We didn’t really do anything.”

“…we didn’t?”

“I mean, you professed your love for me and we made out a bit but that was it.”

“Oh…oh my god, Lance, no. I just-,” Keith groans into his hands as the weight of his concerns buried him in heavy air.

“Keith, it’s fine. I like you too – like, _really_ like you – but I also like sleeping in so if you don’t mind,” he turns back around and nestles down, “I’ll borrow your lavender scented sheets a little more.”

“I think it’s my detergent. I just bought whatever and…”

Lance laughs and gives up. He hoists himself so that he sits up too. “You don’t have to explain why your bed smells nice.”

Keith glowers but Lance knows that he is just pouting. “You don’t have class?” Kogane asks, while timidly reaching out and brushing his thumb against Lance’s bangs. Then realizing that was a stupid question because it’s Saturday.

“No…” Lance murmurs back - too enthralled by the slight and tender touches Keith makes to notice the stupid question.

They find that they mirror a glassy stare through the lenses of their eyes in a tension of mutuality.

“Do you not have work?” Lance asks.

“Day off…I wouldn’t get drunk the night before I have a shift.” Keith murmurs as he tells himself that if he already confessed, and if Lance is right there - in his bed, making googly eyes _back_ \- then might as well go for it.

So he leans in but pauses just centimeters from Lance’s lips. Their air collides together in the room that smells faintly of cigarette ash.

“You are such a goody-two-shoes.” Lance susurrates as he closes the distance and they share a kiss as morning decides to awaken.

They separate and their lips slowly peel apart from each other’s and Keith whispers, “Comes with the job.”

“Really now?’

Keith tilts his head for a better angle and kisses Lance again. “I’d rather not talk about work right now.”

“What would you rather do?” Lance moans as he shifts his weight to his knees and brings his hands to Keith’s shoulders.

“You,” Keith curtly replies while taking hold of Lance’s face and his long, thin, shapely fingers lace around to where Lance’s hair meets the warm skin of his neck. Then he pulls.

Lance mutters through his surprise and the sudden force to Keith’s lips against his and manages to ask, “Are we really doing this right now?” But he returns a breathless kiss nonetheless.

Keith backs and furrows his brows. “What do you mean?”

“Doesn’t my breath smell?” Inner Lance cringes. Stupid question 2.0.

“Lance,” Keith growls into Lance’s neck while nipping at the skin. “That is _literally_ the last thing I am thinking about right now.”

“Keith…I’m super jazzed that you’re into this.” Lance pushes his palm against Keith’s shoulder.

“ _Jazzed_?”

“Shut up. Don’t ruin it,” Lance quickly quips. Then he sighs. “I just feel like we’re going a little fast.”

Keith sneers– which makes Lance worried that he might know about his secret identity because Blue has gone way past fast with Keith, but not Lance. Lance wants to do this right. Take things slow. Be a good boy. Be in love in the correct fashion.

Then Keith exhales, runs his fingers through his hair, and says, quietly, “Do you want to go out today then?”

“…” Lance blinks. “What?”

“Do you…want to go on…” then in the softest voice imaginable, Keith Kogane mutters out a tiny, “a date today?” through an embarrassed grimace.

Lance beams. “I’d like that.”

Keith relaxes a smidge. “I’ve been meaning to catch that zombie movie but I haven’t had a chance to and-,”

“You like zombie movies?”

“I love zombie movies,” Keith retorts as if it were the most obvious fact in the world.

Lance chuckles and something warm and fluttery bubbles and pops in his chest and he throws his arms over Keith and the two fall against the bare tan walls with a soft thud and in soft mirth. “Then let’s watch a zombie movie.”

* * *

The earliest showing is in eight hours – so they decide to get bagels and coffee then take a long nap before heading to the theater.

Lance makes a jab about getting donuts instead.

Keith retorts with, “Do I look like a donut guy to you?”

Lance laughs and it is an indulgent melody in the dusty dawn air.

Keith follows with a quiet chuckle. He always needs to follow with mimicry in case he might do something wrong. Test a little sarcasm there. Laugh a little here. Hope desperately? Keith likes this kid and for some strange, insane, unknown reason, the kid likes him back.

Lance, meanwhile, feels safe under the comforter and smiles without qualm.

Keith finds it unnerving at how seamless their day, their _lives_ , are piecing together in the span of two waking hours. They were only neighbors the day before – now, after an unremembered night, they are something Keith never thought he would have.

Lance likes seeing Keith walk around his apartment in just his underwear – a studious nerd in his natural habitat, mumbling to himself, leafing through books, oblivious to the lovelorn stare that follows him.

Keith adores the image of Lance stretched out on the length of his bed, with the daylight illuminating him like a sea of flowers in a Monet pastoral. He needs to keep his gaze in check or else he could relent and indulge in the temptation.

* * *

They sleep facing each other around the time the rest of the world barrels through traffic, stalks down sidewalks, and rush their lunches – and it is perfect. They sleep in a vacuum of their proximity, their intimacy, their breathing, and their emanating warmth – completely isolated from the city that tries to filter in with the muffled sounds of busyness.

They sleep through the hours of a Saturday afternoon, both desperate in their thoughts about the coming evening and it touches their dreams.

As they drift into their hopes of the future, they sleep in the midst of their unarticulated triumph – Lance victoriously stole the heart of Inspector Kogane; and Keith successfully captured the Blue Paladin – and all it took was for the both of them to crawl under the covers and feel at peace in the presence of the other.

* * *

Hours later, and the peace does not dissipate – which exhilarates and frightens them both. They banter; bicker; argue in petty words but Keith could place his hand over Lance’s on the shared armrest between their red seats in the black of the theater and it will feel like diving into a pool on a sunny summer day.

After the movie, which was not as bad as Lance thought it would be, Keith asks to stop by a convenience store a block from their apartment.

After they nod to the part-timer they occasionally see, Lance is looking at the travel-size array of chips and snacks when Keith quickly approaches the counter, pays for his wares, then returns to Lance’s side to ask, “Do you have any beers at your place?”

“Yeah, I still have a few bottles.” Lance returns a small, overpriced tin of Pringles to its place on the white metal shelf.

“K,” Keith mutters as he slips his wrist through the handles of the black plastic shopping bag and stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“What’s in the bag?”

“Toothbrush.”

Lance looks down the aisle and spies the hook holding a line of toothbrushes in plastic cases, recalls how Keith was nowhere near that aisle and smirks. “You are such a bad liar.”

“Whatever,” Keith huffs before stalking towards the door.

An electric bell chimes as they exit and Lance hums for a second while eyeing the bag, trying to decipher its contents by its boxy lumps.

_It couldn’t be…_

But they walk in silence until they reach the doors to their apartments.

“Oh shit,” Lance murmurs suddenly as Keith pulls out his keys.

“What?”

“I think I left the light on in my apartment this whole time.”

“You’re an idiot,” is all Keith says as Lance bolts to his door and fumbles out his keys and miraculously manages to open his lock within a few seconds.

And indeed, the dim ceiling light of his small studio apartment flickers with its occasional ting.

“ _Ahhhhh_ , fuck,” Lance sighs, “It’s been like 20 hours”. He is not looking forward to that month’s electric bill. He swipes his hand against the light switch to turn it off and he sighs again.

He steps back out into the hallway, and sees Keith there waiting. Lance smiles. “Hey,”

“Hey,” Keith mutters, suddenly caught in his own awkwardness. “Your light was on?”

“Yeah…unfortunately. Not looking forward to the bill.”

Keith releases a quick laugh then taps the edge of his open door pensively. “So you still want to come over for Chinese?”

“Yeah, but I think I’m going to take shower then I’ll head over with the beers.”

Keith nods. “Cool, I’ll go ahead and order then.”

“Kay, I want the sweet and sour pork.”

“Alright,” Keith says as he finally steps into his own apartment but not before leaving Lance with a hint of a tender smile.

Lance stays outside for a moment, trapped in the awe of his neighbor’s rare displays of sweetness. He pumps his fists into the air then leaps into his apartment with a flourish.

This was happening. This is a thing.

He is in a relationship with Keith Kogane – the man he has been in love with since Freshman Orientation.

Lance keenly remembers the warm air of that budding autumn, the short flashes of his moments with his family before teary goodbyes, the musty air of boxes and new furniture, playing catch-up with Hunk, and listening to the ramblings of Pidge, the small child prodigy next door they decided to adopt.

The third day of Orientation coincided with the Altean Harvest festival and he, Hunk and Pidge all roamed the stalls together.

Then, in front of the snow-cone truck, he bumped into the prettiest Japanese-Korean boy in the world, engaged in petty competition over arcade games with him, and had a generally good time especially when they found a mutual interest in ancient ruins. 

Freshman Lance dissolved into ramblings about a high school trip to the Göbekli Tepe when he stopped himself, and apologized for talking too much. But then, Officer Kogane smiled and said, "Don't apologize. I like what you're saying." 

And Lance  _never_ forgot that.

BUT APPARENTLY KEITH KOGANE DID.

Lance winces – he is still a bit bitter about that.

He ended up choosing to move to that dingy apartment because he saw Keith walk in – it was destiny (but really coincidence) that made them neighbors. (The Blue Paladin doesn’t have enough sway to orchestrate getting the neighboring apartment too).

He looks about the state of his studio apartment, which is as bare as Keith’s.

When Hunk and Pidge decided to room together in an off-campus apartment and invited Lance to join them their junior year, Lance opted out. He needed the space to be the Blue Paladin, and, you know, be closer to Keith.

So absent from this space is any indication that Lance is a male college student – other than the Naruto poster pinned to the wall space above his futon. There is his desk, his dresser, and a small bookshelf holding his college textbooks.

The rest of the room hides his dedication to his life as Blue – a vanity with bottles of lotions, cleansers, brushes, and the make-up he needs to become anyone he wants. His 3D rubber printer is disguised as a nightstand by his bed; his closet holds a series of garment bags with his disguises and a hidden partition that gives way to a space holding all of the technology required for his heists – three smartphones, laptop, routers, cameras of varying sizes, etc.

He opens the partition and then the laptop to check on his ongoing vigilante project – nothing too drastic just yet. They are still in the planning stages.

He sighs then closes the laptop shut, repositions the partition, and heads to his bathroom in his darkening room.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Lance – with his hair wet and smelling of men’s musk shampoo – holds a six-pack of beer in his lap, as he sits in the middle of Keith’s apartment, and peers at a flattened plastic shopping bag that held a box of condoms and a small tube of lube.

“ _Sooooo_ ,” Lance articulates, eyeing Keith who turns away in embarrassment. Very rarely is the policeman caught red-handed like this.

“I…I didn’t want to use them today. I just thought…that…”

Lance laughs. “It’s okay,” He taps the caps of the beers – the bottles clang together. “I actually guessed that you bought these but-,”

“You literally came when I was putting them away,” Keith groans into his hands. “I really wasn’t planning on doing anything today…I just,” His face jolts up and contrary to Keith’s expectations, Lance looks contently calm – a small, warm smile on the lips of this handsome Cuban boy.

“Take your time to think of the words. It’s okay.”

Keith blinks – he might fall really hard for this kid. “I…hmmm,” he exhales deeply into the air. “It’s just that – in terms of romance – my life’s been pretty fucked up.” He gesticulates for emphasis.

“Yeah, you mentioned you were having an affair.”

Keith sneers, “Shit…I was worried if I said something last night.”

They begin to talk over each in self-conscious tones.

“I don’t mind, Keith…I still like you. I…”

“I understand if you don’t want to have anything…”

“No, Keith, I still…”

“Then…ugh, Lance, I just…I don’t. I’m so used to sleeping with this guy that my first instinct was to do the same with you but I can’t and-,”

“I’m not some rare Pokemon card, Keith.”

“Why the fuck would you say something like that?”

Lance points to a binder on one of Keith’s IKEA shelves. “That’s a Pokemon binder, isn’t it?”

Keith deadpans. “I’ve been meaning to give that to my stepbrother,” he explains.

Lance reaches over and puts his hand over Keith’s. “ _Sure_ , Keith.”

Keith winces then after a flicker of mischief flashes across his face, he lunges towards Lance and tackles him to the ground.

Lance screams, “No, the beers!”

They wrestle in a flurry of limbs that turns into hungry kisses and the beers are quickly forgotten. Keith attempts to taste every inch of Lance’s lips and tongue and Lance complies in every fashion. They compete over who lies on top of the other. First, Keith has Lance pinned to the hardwood floor. Then Lance pushes against one of Keith’s shoulders.

Back and forth, they fight and laugh and flirt and hunger.

When they pause for air and when Lance straddles Keith’s hips and has his elbows resting near Keith’s reluctantly complacent face, the Cuban boy admits, “I…Honestly, I’m a horny college kid. I would’ve been completely fine with it but I just…you know, me too, I’ve been doing some shitty stuff and I wanted to do it right, at least this time.”

“Yeah…yeah, me too.” Keith notes how his heart releases a lifetime of tension and he reaches up to wrap his fingers around Lance’s neck to pull him down for another kiss. Then he murmurs, “So would you be fine with taking it slow?”

Lance purses his lips and murmurs, with the tiniest inkling of being sheepish, “If I’m going to be frank, I’d rather screw you.”

A beat.

“Me too.”

* * *

Lance feels heat wafting off of his skin in drops of sweat and the remaining moisture from the shower as they both kneel at the foot of Keith’s bed.

Keith eyes his comforter discarded on the apartment floor – it’s just the sheets wrinkling beneath their knees and calves. He notices that his breathing turns ragged, hitching in the torridness – wanting, craving, _thirsting_.

Lance is behind him, holding Keith’s member taut in his caressing grip, milking its slick, smeared shaft. With each pump, Keith gasps into the air.

With the other hand, Lance’s touch travels down the smooth skin of Keith’s back dragging his thumb against the spine with electricity coursing in his touch, and eventually presses against the rim of his ass. Keith grits his teeth.

In hungry and heavy breaths, Lance asks, “Are you really okay with bottoming? You never-,”

“Lance, shut up and hurry.” _The lube definitely helps_ , Keith thinks to himself as he shudders from Lance pushing a finger in.

“ _Ah_!”

Lance stops.

Keith gasps, “Oh, shit,”

“Sorry…I’m just trying to find your-,” Lance kisses his shoulder blades and sucks at soft skin of the curves of Keith’s arching back. He moves his hand from Keith’s dick up to his chest to provide support as he begins to explore with his finger.

Keith wraps his arm behind him to take hold of Lance’s taut cock. Lance almost chokes as Keith wraps his fingers around his condom-covered member.

Lance murmurs, “You don’t have to worry about me…” and he presses slightly into the flesh of Keith’s ass; Keith’s grip fondles the tip; and they both moan arduously.

“ _Lance_ ,” Keith whimpers and his head tilts down and a shoulder twinges up to his cheek.

Lance bucks his hips against Keith and he lets go his partner’s erection and nearly falls onto the bed.

Keith feels his heart beats against the cotton. His fingers claw into the sheets and they crinkle under his grip. He huffs into his sheets, their aroma wafting to him through his heavy moans.

Lance continues to grease into him with a lubricated finger and then he adds another.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Keith moans as ecstasy thunders through his body.

“Keith…are you alright-?”

Keith peeks over his shoulder and eyes the one, who is barely a man, who he chose to be his lover.

Lance, that chosen lover, towers over him and his grip dips into Keith’s skin like an oar into thick, creamy waters.

This is what he wanted, Keith realizes, since his youth. He wanted to have another man’s shadow blanket him, to have strength and dominance pushed on top of him – against him – into him. The fantasy of a man – sometimes a particular person, sometimes a mystery shrouded in black – pinning his face down into the sheets has tainted his sanity for so long. So he whimpers, “ _Please_ ,”

In desperate obedience, Lance pushes his throbbing member into him. Keith mewls like a fitful cat in heat. Lance grunts heavily from the pleasure, from seeing Keith in a frenzy, and from trying to prevent himself from plunging in further in one quick thrust.

“Is it all in?” Keith whispers into his sheets as Lance as he inches in and they moan and huff and gasp.

“Almost…I-ah,” Lance kisses into Keith’s sumptuous skin and takes hold of his shoulders. “Does it hurt?”

“No, I’m fine. Just keep going,” Keith grits through the pain because he knows he feels pleasure too and the mix blossoms from the small of his back as Lance complies.

And Lance does with such burden on his heart and lungs – his breath is heavy, always, in this forever moment of sweat and passion. Lance dreadfully wants this to last forever – this view of Keith’s back beneath his angled fingers, the curve of his ass rising then dipping down into a valley of sumptuous skin and spine.

He pushes against the muscle of Keith’s rim until he is all the way in and they both whimper out into the air.

Lance begins to pull out and Keith stops breathing and scratches deeply into the cotton sheets but he wants more.

So Lance begins his rhythm and between them, a melody of moans, hurried gasps, and the bed creaking incessantly, fills the room, as Lance thrusts abruptly then back out. His hips slam against Keith’s ass again – again – again.

“ _Ah_ ,” Keith moans. “ _Ah_ ,” again.

 _“God_ , you’re beautiful,” Lance whispers as he runs his hand up and down the expanse of Keith’s lithe, delicious back. “I want to see your face,” he says through jagged breaths.

“ _No_ ,” Keith says into the sheets. He made a point of it earlier. Keith fears what could happen if they had sex facing each other. “ _Ah_ ,”

“I want to…” Lance murmurs as he slows down for a measure, in beautiful torture.

“ _Mnnn_ , Lance, _shit_.” Keith releases from his parted lips.

“Please, Keith, I want to see you.” Lance gently snakes his hands to the back of Keith’s head and tries to force his gaze up but Keith digs his head further into the sheets.

“No, fuck, Lance I told you…I…”

Lance thrusts and Keith cannot possibly finish his sentence.

“Keith, please,” Lance requests, desperately, “I want to see your face.”

“ _Lance_ …”

Lance pulls out completely and Keith releases a sound of confusion until Lance takes hold of his partner’s knees and flips him over onto his back.

“Lance!”

But Lance dives forward to steal a kiss from Keith’s panting lips. As they lips smear against each other, Lance enters again, quickly this time, and Keith jolts and turns away.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Lance whispers into Keith’s collarbone as he begins a quick rhythm and the bed rocks and shakes beneath them.

“ _Lance_ ,”

“I love you so fucking much.”

“Ah, _Lance_ ,” Keith huffs, trying to maintain some composure after such a statement, “ _Fuck_ ,”

They share another heated kiss.

Lance bucks hard and fast. He grunts, “Keith, I’m about to cum.”

“Ah, me too,” Keith feels his spine arching out into his pillows. He whips his arms around Lance for support as he loses himself.

“Keith, oh fucking, ah _fuck_ , Keith,”

“I’m _coming_ ,” the pitch of Keith’s voice goes higher with each syllable.

Everything pulses repeatedly, back and forth, with such hurried vigor then suddenly it all peaks and slows. Lance nearly cries through his clenched teeth and Keith moans into the air as his own cum splutters against his stomach and something warm fills him. With burdened gasps, they both die a little bit in each other’s arms.

Keith releases Lance and falls back. Lance pulls out and is careful to make sure that the condom doesn’t spill over anywhere and he tosses it into a nearby bin then flops unceremoniously next to Keith.

They both lie there – on lavender scented sheets – overcome with waning rapture in the light of a disappearing sun.

When their breath and life return, Keith peers over Lance’s back and neck and begins to fondly caress the warm skin of that area. “You have a mole behind your ear,” Keith observes.

“I do?” Lance murmurs.

“Yeah,” he responds slowly as he dips down to kiss Lance’s neck. “I did pretty good, huh?”

Lance chuckles as he turns his face to his lover. “You were fucking amazing…especially for your first time.”

“I think it helps that we like each other.”

“Probably,” Lance smirks back and as they angle their face to press their lips together again – Lance’s phone beeps. Lance groans as he apologizes and reaches for his phone strewn by the floor of the bed, using the minimum amount of effort - which makes Keith snicker. 

Lance taps the screen to see a notification that said, " **6G77** ". Lance blanches - he turns to Keith and shouts, “Shit, sorry, I have a group project that I totally forgot about- I need to go.”

He leaps off the bed, shimmies his boxers and jeans up his legs, flings his shirt and hoodie over his arm and rushes out of the apartment, leaving Keith to go deadpan and eventually roll his eyes.

Lance barrels into his room, takes a quick second of precaution to see that the door shuts securely behind him and scampers to his Paladin corner.

He opens up his laptop, speeds through a bunch of proxy servers then taps into the network the Galra Mafia uses to confirm the decrypted alert that showed up on his phone. He grimaces when he sees it all confirmed in a weird series of email chains. (What kind of mafia gang would use email chains?) They were going to strike tomorrow. So that meant that the Blue Paladin would have to strike tonight.

“Ugh, I didn’t want to be Blue for a while…geez.” Lance groans, “Keith’s gonna be so pissed.”

Lance slams the laptop shut, grabs a backpack holding most of the things he needs for his heists and hastens towards the door, only to see Keith standing outside with his arms crossed.

“Hey, what’s up?” Keith asks. “Everything okay?”

“Oh, no, it’s nothing – they’re a little mad but I’m going to go meet them now,” Lance quickly states then he calms.

Keith waits.

Lance thinks. “Wanna meet up again tomorrow? You know, if you’re free?” Lance asks.

Keith snorts then asks, “Can’t go one day without me?”

Lance laughs awkwardly and embarrassedly, "More than you know.”


	4. The Ruse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys were worried, huh? But I had summer courses and this chapter would just not write itself.

_My next theft will be the person of Allura Fala, APD Commissioner and Heir to the Altean Throne._

“What. The. Hell.” Allura seethes while crossing her arms as she glared at the large banner adorning the wall behind her desk. “How did he find out?”

Keith smirks to himself, now armed with evidence that " _the hell_ " is his superior's favorite phrase. 

The banner had flown open with a burst of glitter and confetti accompanied by a small little sound machine that produced a loop of gratuitous applause as soon as she entered the room. She fumes as she picks a piece of confetti from her hair.

In the next three minutes, the precinct is overrun by a veritable army of bodyguards – sent by the figurehead king, Alfor, first of his name.

With so many bodies in the room, the environment sparks with its first degree of tension.

Meanwhile, Captain Shirogane and his Major Crimes detail get to work at scrutinizing Blue’s ostentatious banner, which was – strangely – notarized by a city notary.

“Matt, why don’t you contact the office that…” Shiro coughs at the oddness, “…notarized the banner.”

Sergeant Holt nods and heads to a computer to do a basic search.

Keith feels his face pinch together in analysis. “I bet it’s a wild goose chase,” he comments. “Blue wouldn’t just put it on here unless it was for kicks.”

“That may be, but we can’t be too sure,” Shiro counters evenly. “We never know what could lead us to him.”

At that time, as the rest of the bullpen is filled with other personnel rushing to and fro to seal exits and possible choke points, a bodyguard approaches her with a hand to his earpiece and he takes Allura by the crook of her arm. “Princess Allura, we-.”

“Do not call me that,” she growls with a glare even more sinister than the tone of her voice. “I worked my whole life to make sure that I could get to where I am without using my title or my father’s influence.” Her voice and stature begin to tower over the space of the office and everyone in her vicinity cowers under her power. “I am Commissioner Allura Fala and the Arus Police Department does not operate on nepotism. So in my place of occupation I expect to be called the title appropriately given to me. Is that clear?”

The bodyguard nods sheepishly and Allura continues to glower over the bullpen.

Tempers and temperature rise a notch.

Keith – who had been watching and thinking through the intensifying heat– feels his eyes narrow as he examines the posture of his superior. Despite everything, to Keith, Allura seemed…shorter.

“Does she seem off to you?” Shiro suddenly asks Keith in a whisper, coming up from behind him and articulating exactly what Keith was thinking.

Keith scoffs and mutters, “Yeah.”

Leave it to the secret man in her life to notice something different, Keith laughs to himself.

Then he says to the Captain, “Other than the fact that she was just outed as the Princess of Arus?”

Shiro releases a burdened chuckle.

 _Ah_.

Shiro knew all along.

“Guess that might be pretty stressful,” the captain grimaces.

Then the possibility hits Keith straight in the gut. “Or…” he begins and trails off as he stalks towards Allura who was busy shouting orders at everyone and before Shiro could say anything, Keith grabs Allura’s wrist and pulls her to him.

“Keith, what the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

“Oh my gosh, is Kallura happening right now?” one of the administrators shrieks excitedly as Keith takes hold of the crown of Allura’s head and looks behind the left ear.

Keith smirks as he eyes the incriminating mole and says, “Allura always call me ‘Kogane,’”

Then Blue, disguised as the beautiful Allura, smirks wryly and laughs, “Really now?”  

The bullpen suddenly hits past the boiling point then a cloud of smoke and a bang explodes from between them and Keith jumps back in shock. Blue’s laughter echoes through the smoke then fades.

“He’s getting away!” Shiro shouts from behind and the sounds of doors slamming, the continuous hissing of the trailing smoke bomb, shouts of fear, and coughing fills every inch of the space.

Keith clasps his collar above his nose and mouth as he makes his way through the smoke, following the light of the green exit signs that other people are rushing towards.

But again, something is off.

Shiro appears through the mist and grabs Keith’s arm and whispers urgently. “I hear ticking.”

Keith’s senses flare as he and Shiro bolt away and on their way to the door, Keith scans the room once more.

Then, he sees a small blue gift-wrapped box on his desk.

Keith rushes against the flow of traffic and shovels his way back to his desk and the ticking becomes more and more intense. He glimpses the attached note beneath the white ribbon that reads: 

_Screwing (with) you is such a bang!_

“Everyone get out of here now!” he shouts as he carefully takes the box then slides in underneath his desk.

“There’s a bomb!”

He barrels towards the door but slows when he spots Shiro making sure to make sure his coworkers get out before he did.

“Shiro, come on!” Keith shouts over the chaos as he grabs the hand of his superior and forces him to follow out the doors.

Then the next few seconds pass painfully slow as the ticks become quicker and as Keith runs and runs then he and Shiro dive for the floor of the atrium lobby.

And as Detective Kogane braces himself, he quickly thinks upon his regrets and smiles bitterly at the thought that he would not be able to say something nice to his stepmom and brother. Then, there’s Lance.

Lance.

In the most impossibly shortest moment, Keith evokes the smell of cotton candy, the sounds of bells and whistles and the clicks of BB guns at the shooting range.

Keith envisions the uninhibited smile of that bright, adorable and easily excitable college kid whenever he won a round at the shooting range at that festival, in that afternoon, in that memory of that warm day years ago.

Keith’s smile becomes a little less bitter as he hits the floor.

Then suddenly,

Nothing.

Everyone turns back in shock as the smoke dies down and is vacuumed into the vents revealing a thoroughly trashed precinct with papers and cubicle accoutrements scattered on the linoleum, chairs strewn about and a few random detectives with firearms drawn.

The few people remaining exchange looks of confusion. Keith and Shiro stand up and tentatively dust themselves off.

“So should we still wait for the bomb squad or-?” Matt Holt shouts indignantly after a moment of silence.

Then the doors to the bullpen close by themselves and the sound of metal clanging together erupts from behind them, then a large muffled BOOM.

“What the fu-.”

The building rumbles and shakes, then settles.

The officers all exchange a glance then rush out of the building for good measure.

Later, after the bomb squad established that there was an explosion in the bullpen and that no other explosives were in the building, the Major Crimes unit took over to scan what remained of their offices.

Analyzing the debris, the ash and the scorch marks, Keith trails off and notices his desk strewn against the northern wall among the throng of other desks, chairs and burnt Manila folders, yards away from the center point of eruption.

His sight narrows as he inches closer to his desk and his lips press together when he sees another blue box securely attached to the underside of its wooden panels.

Keith pulls the box off with an arduous tug and tears it open to unleash a flood of blue and silver glitter and a small, ornately embossed card that reads: 

I wanted to give the Princess a first-class view of the Liberation Day fireworks. Hope you can join ;)

“I guess we can add terrorism to Blue’s rap sheet,” Sergeant Holt mutters as he lightly kicks aside some half-burnt paperwork as he surveys the mess.

Keith grits his teeth together then shouts back, “I’m not so sure.”

Shiro, who had been crouching down while examining the mechanical remains of the bomb that had been set off near Allura’s office, stands and beckons Keith to explain.

“I don’t think he set off the bomb.”

“Why do you think that, detective?”

Keith groans as he hoists himself up, and begins walking over. “Because of positioning, for one. Two, his methods are never this violent; and three, his actual M.O. Is all about what he steals.” And with that, Keith hands over the note and an accompanying wad of glitter.

“What does this mean?” the captain asks, his voice as level as he can make it as he reads the ridiculously embossed note in this ridiculous situation.

Keith grumbles, “It means that Allura will be at the docks near the fireworks display.”

“Alright,” Takashi sighs then looks to his officers. “Alright,” he repeats, “Let’s move out and search for anything else Blue might have left behind.”

“Where are you going?” Matt asks as he notices Keith making his way to the exit.

“I have to make a few calls.”

Matt and Shiro exchange looks. Then the captain shrugs and begins audibly formulating a plan to rescue Allura.

* * *

Three hours later, Shirogane instructs his men to break down the service door to an empty warehouse right on the dock across from the fireworks display. The members of the Major Crimes barge in as soon as the large metal door snaps open and when they reach the main foyer of the warehouse, expecting to find the commissioner to be beaten, bound and gagged but instead…

Allura stares at them from her spot in a neon-blue shag beanbag with a paper crown on her head and while wearing a large and poofy white and blue ball-gown. A bejeweled speaker next to her beanbag blasts the midi version of “ _Can you feel the love tonight_ ” while a screen besides her displays the lyrics against a low quality video background of some mountains.

She looks so very much DONE.

The commissioner holds up her wrists to show the handcuffs and the sound of the metal rattles through the microphone at the stand right in front of her and she pleads her captain through the technical echo, “Please make him stop. He’s been playing and singing Disney songs for nearly three hours and he won’t shut up.”

Keith deadpans and he shares a look with his superiors. Shiro approaches her and gestures at Holt to help her with the handcuffs while everyone else scatters throughout the warehouse to search for the culprit.

Detective Kogane is about to follow a peer down a hallway when he notices a small reflective speck in the area of some fallen and dilapidated metal grate stairs. He inches closer and sees a small, nearly indistinguishable trail of sparkling glitter.

He scoffs as he holsters his gun and prepares to leap up and grab onto the scarce but intact part of the stairs that seemed stable. With a huff, he hoists himself up and swings his body up to the second floor with the ease of a gymnast.

When he reaches the next level he takes out his gun again as he crouches to the ground and carefully stalks down the halls until he sees a little blue card on the windowsill of a cracked window.

Keith releases a sound something between a sigh, a groan and a huh; he picks up the card and sees a condom taped onto the back with the words:

_Nothing like a good, hot quickie to resolve all of this **explosive** tension ;) (winky face)_

Without turning around, Keith calls out to the man he knows is standing behind him and asks, “What if someone saw this?”

The Blue Paladin, dressed in his Tuxedo Mask/Kid Kaito suit – complete with obnoxious white top hat, saunters out from behind a wall and chuckles. His dimples rise against the edges of his mask. “Oh please, detective,” Blue sings as he leans against the wall. “You know I wouldn’t have let that happen. I’m a fan of this whole Romeo + Juliet, star-crossed lovers bit. Getting caught would ruin all the fun.”

Keith blinks slowly as he fingers the crisp borders of the card, its blue color offset against the dark black fabric of his gloves. “How did you know about the bomb?”

Blue falters for a second, then says, “I’m the one who planted the bomb. Of course I would know about it.”

The detective sets the card down and says, “No, you’re the one who made sure we got out in time.”

Blue crosses his arms over his chest.

“I know it wasn’t you,” Kogane continues. “You were trying to protect the Commissioner, right? That tech we found on the actual bomb was completely Galran.”

Blue cocks an eyebrow. “And how could you manage figuring that out?”

“I’m a detective, remember? It’s kind of my job. And besides, they use specific suppliers for jobs like assassinating the Commissioner.”

Blue whistles out his being impressed. “You really are a detective, huh?” Then he inches closer to Keith and eventually drapes an arm over the shoulders of the officer. He arches his head seductively about, explicitly eyeing Kogane’s lips. “But you always seem to forget, officer, about how I’m very much the bad guy.”  

“Trust me, I know you’re not.” Keith murmurs as his hand finds a way behind the crook of the thief’s neck and pulls.

Their lips touch and Blue jolts in shock and his expression remains shocked even when Keith grapples a firm grip around the thief’s wrist as they part.

“Meet me at the Leone Square in two hours,” Kogane growls.

“Ooh, our first date?”

Keith quickly mutters out, “Oh, please, McClain, we’re way past that.”

It takes a second to register and Blue releases an hyperbolic gasp. “Are you cheating on me? Goodness! Why would you say the name of-,”

“Lance,” Keith whispers, his lips barely moving, in a reprimanding but almost teasing nature. He points to his own ear and smirks. “You forgot to cover up your mole.”

Another pause and Lance winces.

There is particular certainty and force in that rare and soft smile that Keith has upon his lips.

Lance blinks and very seriously asks, “How do I know this isn’t a trap?”

“Because of this,” Keith eventually lets go of whatever grip he had on the thief’s body, takes his gun out of his holster, and hands it to him. The government-sanctioned firearm started to feel teased – so many times it has been taken out then re-holstered.

The Blue Paladin borrows the detective’s usual expression of glowering suspicion as he peers at the gift in his hand. Perhaps, for the first time, Detective Kogane stumped the Blue Paladin.

But taking no significant pleasure in what he was about to do, Kogane simply states, “I want that back by the end of the night.”

And with that, Detective Kogane leaves the Blue Paladin on that lonely floor of that abandoned warehouse with that invitation for a chase.

* * *

And so he waits.

Keith makes it to the famous square a few hours shy of midnight and he comments to himself about the long day he's having and about the long night he will most definitely have too. No matter what happens.

There is still a throng of people about, drawn to the space by its renowned bazaar and nightlife.

He searches the crowd for the unmistakable hoodie-jacket combo of Lance McClain.

But he never finds an exact match.

He frowns.

Then his pocket buzzes and vibrates; and when Keith finally unearths his phone from his pocket, he frowns at the _**???**_ showing up as the number of the incoming call.

He accepts the phone call and holds the cell up to his ear. Then, he asks, "When did you get my number?"

Lance’s pitched laughter sounds through the speakers. "I'm the Blue Paladin, detective. How would I not?"

Keith shifts his weight and begins walking towards the middle of the Square, ping-ponging through the pedestrians.

"Are you planning on running?” he asks.

"Maybe. I have a few plans for when I'd get caught. But I didn't plan for..."

Keith hears a dog barking and the distant sounds of a radio program through the phone, over Lance’s voice, and quickly turns. He quickly maps out the vendors who have dogs and who listen to late night radio programs. Three such vendors - he needs to narrow them down. He begins walking north now and then finishes for Lance, "Me finding out or us screwing each other?"

"The latter was something I always hoped for but you know..." Lance says while someone near him yells out that they have durian ice cream for sale.

_Got him._

Keith quickens his pace, heading northeast now, and responds, "You can't keep this up forever-."

"I have a reputation now."

"Lance, you live right next door. How are you going to weasel your way out of-."

"I've got a bug out bag and enough cash. Plus, your _gun_.  It's a large city, detective. I doubt you’ll be able to find me again.” Lance states, almost wistfully, as he leans against the granite foundation of the large statue of King Raimon in the middle of the square. 

Then someone grabs his wrist.

Lance almost yelps as his body is wrenched around by Keith’s firm grapple.

"I think you're severely underestimating my competence as a detective," Kogane growls as he pulls Lance back towards him.

Lance winces and remarks, "Yo. Dude. That actually hurts. And I think I'm entitled to my estimation of your competence. Considering you were neighbors with the Blue Paladin for two whole years and you never-Hey!"

Keith jerks Lance down the street with insistence.

"Keith!"

Keith ignores him.  

Lance protests for another minute but the detective is silent and focused as he stalks through the streets of Arus.

* * *

McClain grows quiet, begrudgingly but obediently following Keith - who did not break his hold - until they both reached a walled-off building in an alleyway that resembled a Japanese inn.

"Eh! Kogane-ssi!" the elderly lady proprietor nearly shouts as Keith walks in, with Lance still in tow.

"Where are we?” Lance asks as Keith knocks off his shoes and mutters a quick line of instructions in Korean, which makes Lance annoyed because he knows that Keith knows that Lance knows Japanese. 

The woman nods and bows low, then gestures to the matted hallway to their left.

"What the…” Lance murmurs as Keith drags him down the hallway of door after door. 

Finally, Keith stops, slides flings Lance into the darkened room. And when his eyes adjust, Lance sees that he is kneeling atop of a futon.

“Take off your clothes,” Keith orders with a vague nod.

Lance frowns. “How long have you known?”

“I had my suspicions since the winter. But it all clicked yesterday.” Keith flicks his jacket off and points to the backpack dangling off of Lance’s shoulders. “My gun’s in there?”

Lance tosses the backpack at Keith’s face and resentfully murmurs, “It couldn’t have just been the mole. So...then...Why didn’t you just bring me in…if you knew.”

“I needed to confirm it and I wanted to fuck you one last time.”

An uncomfortable and unexpected silence follows as Lance blinks and Keith blanks.

“For shits and giggles,” Keith adds unceremoniously, awkwardly. 

“What…”

“Do you not want to?” The detective kneels down onto the futon while avoiding eye contact with the thief.

Lance cocks his brow in disbelief. “I’ll just run away.”

Keith huffs then pulls his shirt over his head in a quick, and purposefully sensual manner and he meets Lance’s gaze. “Nothing stopping us then.”

He kisses him and Lance gives up to taste him back.

* * *

So then, with their lips together, their breaths and chests rising and falling, their bodies and souls pounding and plunging into each other, Keith Kogane makes aggressive love to Lance McClain.

He is angry and belligerent in his love. He growls as he groans. There is anger that breeds then aligns to unmistakable pleasure.

The fabric creases as they shift and move and kiss and love.

And when the detective towers over the thief, Lance sees such vile vulnerability in the roughness of Keith's lovemaking - that he knows is something akin to love as Keith furrows his brows and grapples at his brown skin.

He wants more of it.

He wants to be wanted like this.

He craves it.

And as Keith craves him, they are both satisfied.

* * *

In the darkness before dawn, Lance slowly inches out from his place from beneath the comforter. He takes one last look over Keith's sleeping figure beside him. He could just make out his chest as it rises slightly in the shadows. He slowly brushes aside Keith's bangs and leaves him with one last kiss on his forehead... and handcuffs linking the cop's wrist to legs of a nearby table. 

Lance makes it to the door in silence even with his breath.  

Then, a soft "Don't," sounds through the dark.  

Lance pauses and looks back. Keith has not moved within the darkness. His eyes were still closed but he is painstakingly awake nevertheless.

Lance whispers at length, "Keith...I can't." 

The silence between them takes ages in the few seconds left before morning comes. 

"You're going to regret it." 

Lance knew he would regret everything. The whole night was ravaged with _what if'_ s and  _maybe'_ s. Lance already filed through every eventuality and could not come with an answer that assuaged him. 

So he made a decision and said, "Bye, Keith." 

The thief creaks out into the hallway and gently slides the door shut. 

Suddenly, something creaks and Lance’s face is covered by a cloth and his body is jerked to the floor, head-first. But before he hits the ground, Lance forces the cloth up and quickly twists his body around to catch himself. He pulls a right-hook straight into the ribs of his unseen assailant. His fist meets flesh and there is a groan that makes Lance smile.

Then a blow hits him in the face and Lance falls down to the tatami mats in a complete daze.

* * *

Eventually, Lance wakes slowly and a pain that vibrates from his head to his legs defines the entirety of his consciousness. 

His eyelids arduously lift from his eyes so that he could eventually make out the dark insides of a bare room except for a metal table on wheels. He looks down to see zip-ties securing his ankles to the legs of a chair welded to the concrete floor.

“Just great.” Lance spits, trying to dispel the taste of iron from the roof of his mouth.

Behind him, a metal door creaks open and slams shut.

Lance tries to turn despite the pain and literally guffaws as he sees the underboss - the Nii-daime, lieutenant, and the scion of the cruelest, largest mafia/yakuza coalition in the world - sauntering into the room to stand before him in a freshly pressed Italian suit.

“Well, if it isn’t the infamous Blue Paladin,” Lotor announces as he fiddles with his cufflinks.

And Lance guffaws again into the newly tense air.

Lotor cocks a brow.  

Lance chuckles and says, “Wow, sorry! I just never thought I’d be able to meet with the Lotor, the Galran Prince of Crime.” Then he cocks his head, “Could I start calling you Joker and can I start dressing up as Batman?”

The notoriously handsome prince steps even closer and lifts Lance’s face up by the chin. “I don’t mind dress up, but I’m not sure if you’ll be in the mood for roleplay when I’m through with you.”

Lance sneers, “But I like games.”

“Oh, I am well aware of that.” Lotor releases and walks to the table as he slips out of his suit jacket. “You have thwarted us and our efforts, time and time again, _Paladin.”_ Lotor drapes the jacket over the flat of the table and begins rolling up his sleeves.” And now, you’re here in accordance with _our_ plans. And in a place where even you could never even dream about finding despite all of your efforts.”

Blue quips sarcastically, “Yeah, because we live in a world without Google Maps.”

Lotor walks over and slaps him. Hard. And Lance winces from the agonizing throbbing where the gangster’s ring hit against his lip.

He tastes the iron of his blood once again.

Lotor shakes out his hand and places the other on Lance’s shoulder. His manicured nails slowly digging into the bone. “So defiant. But you will learn, Lance McClain,” Lotor bends down to whisper menacingly, “...what happens when you try to defy the will of the Galra.”

Lance grits his teeth and murmurs with a forced smile. “Always happy to learn,” he scoffs facetiously.

Lotor only smiles as he stands and releases his grip. Then, “And _you?_ Are you just going to watch?” he asks, looking over Blue to the area behind them.

And as the Blue Paladin peers over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of whoever was behind him, Lance learns of the biggest problem that Keith Kogane has kept secret from nearly everyone in his life...

_That he is the heir to the Galra Mafia-Yakuza Empire._

Because there he stood, the cop, with his hands in his pockets and a black jacket draped over the crook of one arm - in a reluctant and perturbed slouch against the wall. Keith has his eyes downcast and when he pulls out a cigarette and lights it, his eyes float up and Lance sees the indicative and damning glint of yellow.

Lance feels like something punched him in the lungs.

His heart aches more than his bloodied lip.

His mind swirls.

His stomach twinges and twists.

He begins coughing violently as Keith takes a hand out and slowly bring his fingers to the cigarette at his lips. He sighs at length as he takes a drag.  “What makes you think that I’ll just watch you fuck this up?” he asks Lotor. 

Lotor sneers, "Remember who you're talking to, _nephew_.” The gangster plunges his long, thin, and pale fingers into Lance’s brown locks as the boy continues to cough and convulses. “Or do you have a better method of extracting what we need out of this kid?”

Keith straightforwardly and very point-blank says, “Yeah, I do.” Then Keith pauses and glances at the trembling back of his lover. He states, “Because he’s my bitch.”

Lance winces, and swallows the remainder of his coughing, but then a low, bitter chuckle sounds through from his teeth, its melody tainted with a harmony of bitterness. “You really believe that, huh, Inspector?” he seethes through the blood swelling from his lips.

Kogane blinks slowly, seemingly unaffected. “More than you know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MUAHAHAHHAHA! U mad bro? Ok, sorry to keep you waiting and then hit y'all with this but yeah...Lance has a mole and Keith is a mole!


	5. The Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Fudge-Muffin New Years, everyone. One more horrible chapter (+an epilogue) to go! I hope you all have been enjoying this journey of Smut, Fluff, then Angst – in that order, for your pleasure.

Keith hates his family home.

He makes this long-standing observation again as he stares up at the Rococo-inspired ceiling tiles of the mansion belonging to his odious grandfather. He slumps further into the cushions of a gilded divan while a lit cigarette trembles between his lips. He contemplates the extent of how gaudy his family’s taste is.

“I really do hate this place,” he groans, while knowing that it didn’t help that his kinda-but-not-really-boyfriend is zip-tied to a chair, being beaten and starved in the basement of the large garden shed behind the mansion. In which, the family performed their “secret discussions” with other people.

Lance had been able to engage in the discussion for a bit at the beginning with witty ripostes for each of Lotor’s threats. But Lance learned quickly that Lotor will not typically resort to violence but he has a talent for torture nevertheless.

Each muffled cry from Lance’s lips every time Lotor “experimented” on the Blue Paladin’s flesh had been oil onto the flame of Keith’s smoldering anger and guilt.

Keith had begun in the room.

Then he had to step out.

But being even outside of the room could not quiet the screams of pain from inside.

He feels like shit.

He knows that Lance feels worse.

Which makes him feel shittier.

_Was all of this worth it?_

Keith asks himself over and over again.

“Keith.”

Lithe yet calloused hands suddenly appear over the fists Keith had been making around his knife. He was bleeding. A long shallow cut had formed on his palm. 

He looks up to see Acxa staring stoically at him – yet, there is the slightest but still perceptible hint of concern across her brow.

“You’re making yourself bleed,” she says.

“It’s helping,” he responds truthfully.

“I don’t think so.”

Keith releases and Acxa takes the knife. She pulls out the handkerchief from her chest-pocket and swipes the blade across with the silk fabric with one smooth quick stroke.

She hands it back to him. “I think you should leave,” she tells him. “You have the Kralzera tomorrow. You need your rest.”

“This is my punishment,” he says as he takes and slips the knife into its sheath at the small of his back.

“I won’t let him kill the boy just yet,” she promises.

He scoffs lightly. “Yet, huh?”

She pauses. “You know our laws,” she finally says.

He peers at the cut in his palm.

Keith hates his family home.

* * *

Hours later, from a muffled distance, Keith hears the distinctive clack of Lotor’s Italian leather shoes against the mahogany floors out in the hall. The door to the parlor creaks open, signaling his uncle’s probable grandiose entrance, but Keith continues to stare up.

“Did you smoke all of these?” Lotor seethes as he walks up to his nephew, eyeing the sprawling pile of half-burnt cigarettes on the expensive Oriental rug.

“No, they came pre-smoked,” Keith mutters flatly back without removing his gaze from the ostentatious ceiling décor.

All of the patience he hadn’t used in the past, Keith is employing now so that he doesn’t murder his uncle during the weekend the Family Council is meeting to decide succession.

“So you do have a sense of humor,” Lotor retorts – just as flatly and facetiously – and walks a meter and a half to a large deep redwood pine table that held a haphazard mass of papers, files, and receipts.

“Are you going to give me time with him?” Keith asks.

“I’d rather not,” Lotor responds immediately as he picks up a manila folder and begins peering at its contents. “You might be overcome by those, frankly, _magnificent_ baby-blue eyes of his, and be tempted to release him. Zethrid is taking care of him now.”

Keith now breaks his staring contest with the ceiling and begins to glare at his uncle, obviously peeved that the man with obnoxiously long hair would say _anything_ about Lance.

Lotor answers his nephew with taunting silence, a triumphant smirk, and a raised, knowing glance.

So Keith decides to press another issue as Lotor returns his attention to the file in his hands. He asks, “Why didn’t you tell me about the bomb?”

Lotor does not look up from his file and blankly states, “It was your day off. You wouldn’t have been there."

“But I was.”

“But you wouldn’t have been there if it weren’t for your booty call making a mess of things.”

Keith glowers.

Now, Lotor looks up, since he anticipated his nephew making that face and gives Keith a humored smile. “The causalities would have been minimal.”

“Shiro would’ve been one of them,” Keith responds in muted anger.

“Shiro? Ah, right, Shirogane – your _beloved_ captain,” Lotor scoffs and finally flings the file back on the table. “You really don’t hide the fact that your loyalties lie elsewhere.”

“Why would I have any loyalty to a group of murderers? Who _still_ won’t tell me what happened to my mother.”

Lotor decides not to open the can of worms that is his elder sister and gruffly states, “You know better, Keith. Bite your tongue or _Mother_ might have me cut it out. Your loyalty needs to lie with us. Don’t misjudge my passivity to your disregard as acceptance. You are a part of this family whether you like it or not."

Keith glares askance and almost rolled them. 

"Would you like me to remind you of how you were able to become a detective?” Lotor adds.

At this, Keith scowls.

When his mother left/disappeared/fled/escaped/whatever-verb-you-want-to-choose, Keith was given limited options if he wanted to stay with his father. He was only ten years old.

In Zarkon’s perfect world, Keith’s mother would have married someone within the “family” and Lotor wouldn’t be gay. But Keith’s mother married a Texan and Lotor brought home a different man (and/or male escort) every weekend.

So Zarkon put all his plans for the future onto Keith’s shoulders.

Keith wanted to be an archeologist.

His fondest memories as a child consisted of him deeply immersed in a book on Ancient Egyptian architecture, spending hours in the Prehistoric Wing at museums, or exploring caves in National parks with his aunt.

Archaeologist was not on Zarkon’s approved list.

So Keith had to choose between (1) Politician, (2) Businessman, (3) Lawyer, and (4) Police officer.

Even at ten years old, Keith knew that no matter what he chose to be, it would all have to be for the benefit of his grandfather.

So he chose an occupation through which he could do some good too.

But recently, he feels like he does no good at all.

Especially when Lotor says, “You did good bringing him in. This will help the leaders when they make their decision. Though, with you still saying shit like that, who knows what my mother will say.”

Keith collapses back into the cushions of the divan. “Why don’t you be the head? You’re already doing most of the work since Zarkon’s been in that coma.”

Lotor chuckles, “Maybe. But I enjoy just being a part-timer.” He walks over to his nephew and props his elbow on the top edge of the divan’s backing, a folder still dangling within his deft fingers. “It really ought to be one of us – else it goes to the dreaded cousins.”

Keith thinks of all the gangsters, pedophiles, murderers, and lowlifes that live in the other rooms of the mansion and groans again.

He really hates his family.

* * *

At the end of the day, Lotor gives Keith one hour with the Blue Paladin.

“You could even fuck him if you want. Just don’t make a mess,” Lotor mutters as he waves Keith away with a flourish of his hand.

“You got what you needed from him?”

“Yeah, I’m going to go murder our IT guy and that should solve up the crux of most of our recent issues.”

“And …him?” Keith tentatively asks and tries to do so without any hint of the mess of emotions within.

But Lotor is, above all things, a people person. He understands – maybe even more than Keith’s own father – what troubles the little Mafioso-to-be at his core.

“You know our laws, Keith,” is all Lotor says.

Keith blinks slowly, like a cat in contemplation.

“Make this hour count,” Lotor advises.

“So you are going to kill him.”

Lotor sighs heavily, thinking about all the ribs he already broke in the Paladin’s body. “I’ll make it painless.”

Keith now ruminates upon the words that leave his lips; perhaps for the first time in his life, he is thinking of the little string of words of what he is asking for. He looks up at his uncle and says, “Give me the whole evening with him and I’ll do it myself.”

Lotor gives Keith a wincing glare of suspicion. “What makes you think I’ll agree to that?”

“Zarkon would want me more involved, right?”

“You’re showing initiative _now?”_ Lotor scoffs in disbelief, “And like _this?_ ”

Keith does not respond. His expression is blank.

Lotor ruminates upon this for a moment.

He thinks about his father lying comatose in the master bedroom with frightened nurses tending to the monitors and chemicals attached to his body.

He thinks about his contemptible mother who grew more contemptible and more power-hungry over the years.

He thinks about the little boy with big grey-gold eyes who used to tug at the hem of his jacket and ask where his mother went, and how he grew into a man with a small voice and a big temper, and how, in Lotor himself, a strange and singular affection for that boy grew into the unspoken love of an uncle.

Lotor never wanted to lead the Galra, despite his knack for the illicit courses of the life. He never enjoyed the brutality of it. Even with the Paladin, he needed to separate himself from his actions.

He wanted change – but he knew none of the pre-existing leaders of the Galra would follow him. The family had put their favor in with Keith’s mother, his sister – his fierce, strong, beloved sister.

And here was her son, confused, angry and hungry for something he could not understand, waiting for an answer.

So Lotor takes out his phone and speed-dials his lieutenant.

He holds the phone to his ear when the call connects. “Acxa? Take the Paladin to Keith’s room.”

There is something said on the other line.

Lotor groans, “So he can fuck him, of course. What else?”

A beat.

The melody of a rejoinder filters through the speaker.

Lotor seethes into the phone, “ ** _No_** , Ezor, I did not _taint_ him with my homosexuality. Are you the one who tainted Zethrid with _your_ lesbianism? No. You know that’s not how it works…”

Keith waits a second to see how long his uncle could maintain this repartee with his people.

Then he walks towards the door to leave.

His uncle calls after him, “Don’t forget about the Kralzera.”

Keith stops and takes a long, slow breath through clenched teeth. “I know.”

He hates his family.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, after a run to the small mini-mart that his family has as a front, Keith walks to his room and finds Lance, beaten and still a bit bloody, lying at the foot of his massive bed.

When he steps to him to look at his wounds, Lance spits at his face.

Keith calmly accepts it and ignores the gesture. He takes off the suit jacket he had been wearing and tosses it onto a nearby handcrafted oak chair.

He slowly wipes off the moisture on his cheek. “…How are-,” he is about to ask.

“Fuck you,” Lance bites at him in an arduous whisper, almost gasping for breath.

Keith tentatively inches his hand towards Lance. “What did he do to you? You need to tell me so I can-.”

“You’re a real piece of pure shit, you know that?”

Keith retracts his hand. “I know.” His lips tense into a thin flat line. “I…” he begins to say, “I didn’t think they’d go this far.”

At this, Lance laughs but really cries because he knows that it all is just hurting him more – not just the pain, not just the feeling of his blood drying and crackling on his skin and hair – but really, it is the huge hole of betrayal expanding in his stomach, eating away at his heart and flesh.

In turn, Keith pauses and all that anger, those overwhelming feelings of shame, the deeply and intensely poisonous hurt that had been scraping and gnawing away at his innards – it all came out in the smallest, the saddest, and the sincerest, “I’m sorry.”

They both were being consumed by the outbreak of turmoil between them.

Lance doesn’t say anything – when he does it stings and he can feel the sore memories of Lotor’s fists against his ribs.

Keith waits a while longer.

“I brought you some soup…it’s uh, it’s good. You should eat.”

Lance thinks about his answer then settles with, “I don’t think I can.”

Keith falters then stumbles through, “Right, sorry, I brought something for the pain too.” He pulls out a small zipcase from within the folds of his jacket. He sets it down on the matching dark oak table, unzips and deftly pulls out a thin syringe and small bottle marked with a white label reading “QNTS-3. 5mg.”

Lance furrows his brow. “Whoa, whoa, whoa - What is that?”

Keith replies, “A syringe.”

“Yeah, I got that – what the hell _is_ it, Keith?”

“It’s… _quintessence_.”

“Dude. That is not helpful.”

“Long story short – it’s morphine and a stimulant without the dependence.”

“…”

Keith purses his lips slightly. “You still want it?”

“Yes, please,”

As Keith prepares the drug, he begins to explain, “Honerva, Zarkon’s wife…”

“And your grandmother,” Lance adds disdainfully.

Keith gruffly and slowly comments, “Yes, my grandmother, she was – uh – in the pharmaceutical field when she was young. She doesn’t like dealing with …”business.” She leaves that to Lotor. Prefers to working on the latest drug Vice tries to get off the streets, you know? She made the prototype for this a couple years ago.”

“What for?” Lance asks as Keith gingerly rolls of the tattered remains of Lance’s sleeve.

“For the capos and whatever they might need it for. I mean, who wouldn’t want a drug with a high and no consequences, right?”

“True. Is it even possible?”

“She mixes it with something and no one knows what - not even Lotor. But no one has gone to rehab or _died_ from it yet…” Keith holds the needle an inch away from the crook of Lance’s elbow. “You alright with it?”

Lance manages to chuckle. “I ain’t going to say ‘No.’”

Keith presses the syringe in. Lance wonders how many times Keith's done it before and why he can’t seem to feel the pinch of the needle into his skin.

“You’re going to feel a bit sleepy but that’s normal. You can have the soup in the morning. I’ll dress your wounds while you sleep.”

Lance sighs into the release of pain as the drug circulates throughout his body. Then, “What’s the Kralzera?” he asks. “I heard Lotor’s lady assassins talking about it.”

Keith neatly pulls out the syringe and he feels his lips tense again. “It’s the Galran word for a meeting – _the_ meeting.” He takes a small cotton pad from the zipcase and presses it onto the puncture point. 

Lance waits a bit before he calmly asks, “Am I going to be killed?”

Keith shakes his head. “I’m going to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“Cool.”

Silence.

Then, with all the exhaustion that his body has been carrying, Keith whispers out, “I’m sorry.”

The last thing Lance says before drifting off to sleep is, “I know.”

* * *

Close to three in the morning, after Keith wiped off blood and applied ointment, his phone buzzes.

A text from Lotor, saying: 

> I think she found out about your rendezvous.

Keith phlegmatically texts back: 

> What do you mean?

Almost immediately:

> She moved up the Kralzera to 0500. You only have a few more hours with him.

He responds with:

> ok

Keith does not sleep for the rest of the night. He sits in his chair.

He sits on the bed.

He sits on the couch.

He just sits.

Thinks.

Regrets.

Plans.

He was never any good at making plans.

At precisely 4:35 in the morning, he lifts himself off the cushions. He lightly brushes his finger against a few stray hairs of Lance’s bangs.

He says, “I’m sorry,” one more time.

Then he stalks to his dressing room.

He picks out a suit of a specialized thick but breathable blend.

He wrenches his own shirt off of his back and dons a thin and streamlined bullet-proof vest.

He pulls out a series of drawers and chooses a few glocks to wear on his person – one that matches his standard issue from work for his belt, and two subcompact 26’s for his shoulder holster.

But Keith is more of a knife man – so two automatic double OTFs for his sleeves, a small blade in a sheath wrapped around his ankle, and his mother's Luxite blade at his back.

He is ready for the Kralzera, among the family he hates. 

* * *

Keith walks towards the Main Hall with a natural yet falsely confident stride, completely used to carrying an arsenal on his person as he does now. His emotions – that were bulging within him before – now begins to focus and distill.

“Focus,” he reminds himself. “Focus.”

Every step he takes, he numbs out more of his internal disaster – his guilt, his shame, his anger, his uncertainty.

Step.

Gone.

Step.

It all disappears when he reaches the doors of the hall. He sighs when his handgrips the gilded handles.

Then he opens the door.

It is 4:57.

The rest of the Capos and Oyabun are there, sitting ominously in their assigned seats with their seconds standing behind them.

Sendak and his second, Haxus, handle most of the family business, specializing in drugs and territory disputes.

Prorok and his second, Myzax, oversee weapons manufacturing.

Throk and his second, Raht, specialize in racketeering, prostitution, and extortion.

Kazuko Nakamura and her kobun, the loyal Ladnok, have their hand in raising and/or blackmailing politicians and businesses.

Then, there is Lotor at the right hand side of the northern head of the table. Acxa stands behind him.

Four major branch families for each of the four main districts of the city.

When Keith steps into the room, all the capos – excluding Lotor - stand and together, with their seconds, they all raise their fists to their hearts and exclaim, “Vrepit Sa.”

Keith mirrors the action mutely, nods mutely and sits down in his seat at the southern head of the table without a sound.

The capos return to their chairs, but now, without the insincere respect they held just a second earlier. They do not care for the half-blooded pretender.

In fact, Keith knows they mean to end him today.

Then, right at 5:00 AM, the doors at the other side of the room swing open and Honerva, the Haggar, stalks into the room with a row of three druid attendants behind her.

Now everyone stands again.

Everyone pays their respect – though for some, the glint of disdain still lingers in their eyes as they salute her.

Honerva sits first and waves her hand to signal the capos to return to their seats.

She peers about the room, studying, and her gaze finally rests on Keith.

Though the woman looked frail in her age, Keith knew that Honerva was not a weak woman; and the spite and fire in her eyes only confirmed that.

She garbles out like the inhuman sounds from a broken radiator, “I did not think you would have made it.”

“Grandmother,” Keith mutters back. “I would not miss this for the world.”

“Hmm.” She leans back in her chair.

“Honerva,” Sendak begins; his impatience and ambition motivating his tongue when he speaks to the witch. “With Zarkon indisposed, for a **_year_** now, we must choose a successor. There is no time for pleasantries.”

“Pleasantries, Sendak? You are mistaken,” Honerva chuckles. “I have already made my decision long ago and my husband, in his clearer moments, has approved.”

Throk bangs the table with his fist. He seethes, “ _Lotor_ is not a wise choice. He has no stake in our work and neither does that little weasel sitting at the head.” He thrusts a finger behind him towards Keith. “They both helped in shutting down our most profitable brothels in the last year alone. How could you expect _them_ to uphold our traditions?”

Honerva smiles sinisterly. “But this is what Zarkon **_wanted_**. His son at the head and his grandson at his right. Who are you to say anything about tradition?”

Throk spits, “Someone who deserves his due.”

Lotor makes no movement in reaction except for narrowing his eyes just slightly. “You know,” he sings, “For someone who constantly complains about the entitlement of ‘younger generations’, you sure are keen to talk about whatever you might feel like you’re entitled to,”

Throk stands in reactionary anger. “You son of a-,”

Honerva raises her hand. “If you say, ‘bitch’, you would be referring to me, no?”

Throk frowns but at the guidance of his second, he returns to his seat.

“Does anyone else have anything to say?”

The capos all eye each other and Keith has taken to silence like no other.

“Good,” Honerva huffs. “Because I do agree that a new age must come and that my son and grandson need to be _made_ into better shape for the future.”

Keith’s hands flinch. That sounded like a threat. 

“So, until they are ready, here is what I propose,” she articulates as she stands, her claw-like hands set atop the table. “I propose that _I_ take over the family - _indefinitely_.”

Sounds of confusion or disapproval ring through the room.

“With Lotor as your second?” Nakamura asks suspiciously.

“No,” the mafiosa says triumphantly.

At this, Acxa suddenly leaps at Lotor and a blade is pressed against the skin of his throat before he can make a sound. “Acxa?” he questions as he raises his hands. Then he forces a grin. “I hope this isn’t because of Narti.”

“This is definitely because of Narti,” she responds.

Honerva’s eyes rest upon Keith’s figure again. She smiles.

The doors behind Keith open with a heavy creak. But before he can turn around fully, the new guest says, “I am her second.”

The voice stuns him. The familiarity of it is like a spear to his stomach. Keith’s heart beats against his chest, urgently and rapidly. He shuts his eyes tight as the guest walks around the table.

The stride is undeniable with its character and its sound. Each step is a grenade on Keith’s shoulders as he recognizes scraping of metal on metal.

The steps stop; and the quiet is unbearable.

Keith opens his eyes to see Captain Takashi Shirogane standing behind his grandmother’s right shoulder.

“Keith,” Honerva says laughingly, mockingly, derisively. “Have you met my second-in-command?” Her eyes scream with victory and taunting.

Keith glowers at his grandmother as his chest explodes with another storm of emotions.

He hates his family.

* * *

“Shiro?” Keith asks, genuinely terrified by the sight before him. “Shiro…what are you-,”

“You were always a bit too naïve, Kogane,” Shiro says lightly but with a chill Keith had never heard before.

“This is unheard of!” Sendak seethes.

Shiro retorts, “Why? Because I finally outrank you?”

Sendak glares as he spits, “I was the one who _trained_ you, you bastard.”

Prorok hollers his opinions. Nakamura speaks at Ladnok angrily.

“What is going on?” Throk shouts.

“Your reckoning,” Honerva answers coolly. “The past must die.”

In an instant, all of the other seconds slaughtered their heads.

Keith jumps up in shock then watches in horror as Haxus slits Sendak’s throat, Myzax repeatedly bludgeons Prorok’s head with the butt of his gun, and Raht shoots Throk in the back right at the heart.

Ladnok, however, presents a small blade to Nakamura. The woman takes it with bitter fire in her eyes, calmly aims it at her wrists but then flings it in Honerva’s direction while screaming. Shiro easily deflects it and one of Honerva’s druids shoots the woman in the chest. Her failing body slumps back into the chair.

Acxa delivers a swift blow to Lotor’s neck and he too falls onto the wood of the table, but only unconscious.

When the dust settles and the only thing remaining is the sound of lost blood seeping from flesh, Keith interrogates, “Why?”

“You both are still my offspring – and as much as you look like the piece of garbage that is your father, there is still so much of your mother in you. You are alive because of her.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Keith insists as he stares at the bloody mess at the table, at Lotor’s limp body, at the seconds wiping off the messes of their business and shoving their former masters to the ground to take their seats.

“You know our laws, don’t you, Keith?” his grandmother asks.

“And those laws dictate that the bond between the head and their second is a covenantal one – bonds that you just had each person here destroy and break,” Keith says angrily.

“Unless the head fails to uphold our rights and laws,” Honerva responds without a qualm. “Which they have. Now their more appropriate seconds are the new heads and they will pick their seconds – ones that will aid this new regime, whether you join us or not.”

The last sentence really was a threat, Keith discerns.

“It is too bad that you don’t have a second to attend to you. Should I assign you one?”

Then, suddenly, all the people before him flinch into agitation. The seconds rise from their chairs; Shiro and the druids cock and raise their firearms; Honerva frowns.

Keith feels a presence behind him and a hand rests on his shoulder.

“Don’t worry. He has one.”

Keith scoffs with a smile as he turns to face Lance wielding a rifle with a single hand and three bandoliers of ammo wrapped around his body.

"Did you steal those from my room?" Keith asks, trying not to laugh. 

"Who would I be but not a thief?" Lance jokes back. 

“You,” Honerva sneers, not amused by this new development, “…are supposed to be dead.” She eyes Acxa with a livid glare.

“I’m sure you’ll work to fix that,” Lance laughs. “Thank you for the Quintessence, by the way. I feel great.”

Keith cannot help but chuckle while he pulls out one gun from his belt and another from his shoulder holster.

Honerva’s temper flares from her face.

“You guys are way in over your heads,” Shiro comments. "You know that, right?" 

Keith and Lance share a look, then a smirk, before looking back at battle waiting ahead of them, and confidently retorting together, “More than you know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed it even though I don't think I have a natural knack for angst. But I do for character plot twists! ha-HA!  
> I'll probably come back and make a few edits here and there.  
> Also, I know that my mob and yakuza references are a bit murky but this is as much as I can do - please be nice (;´Д`)  
> Please leave kudos, comments and/or bookmark so that I become more motivated to procrastinate on the work I get paid for and focus more on finishing this! hahaha :/


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